


Should He Walk This Earth

by RalitoEnSalaa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e02 Primavera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalitoEnSalaa/pseuds/RalitoEnSalaa
Summary: In the catacombs, Hannibal Lecter paces up, and Will Gramham slows down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic in English, apologize for poor grammar.   
> When I re-watch s03e02, I felt that if Will didn't throw out his forgiveness so soon, Hannibal would actually went out when he called his name.

Will he kill him?

Will he kill Rinaldo Pazzi?

Will Hannibal Lecter kill Rinaldo Pazzi?

One of your kinds is alone in the darkness; another of your kinds is hunting him. You are smart, all three of you. To who is new to this play would be fooled by the echoes of your steps that bounce on the walls of catacombs. The one you are looking for is breathing the same murky air. As you pause, one synchronizes you, and the other does not.

“Hannibal,” you called his name, again.

In a corner of the dark voile where not far but close to you, Hannibal Lecter, his physical form and within freeze and hesitate if to answer you.

_Will you kill him._

His face turns to your direction and then his body. His motion is slow, too slow, yet the decision has been made. While he returns to you, a man returns to Purgatorio alone, and you return to your Inferno. You see skeletons, as well as candles; fill in the hollows on the wall. They observe you from centuries before your birth; their ashed eyes stare and stare. Do you count yourself among them?

For the purpose of distinguishing, you pant out loud, but still so quiet, thus only you are aware of how breaths escape from your windpipe. Your acquaintance is getting closer and closer. That is when you decide not to keep your vow of silence, and you smile like it’s a victory of a loser. As the first syllable leaps out of your mouth, you see him. It is but merely a frame of shadow, but soon it becomes a man.

_A man you titled him._

Words that you are not prepared to speak in front of him burst the embrace of darkness like floods and you let them pouring ruthlessly.

“I forgive you,” you said.

Happy? Satisfied? You cruel bastard who bring destruction to a monster’s mercy and torn down its costume and pulverize the pieces on the ground! You turn his face eventually into a blank canvas. However, forgiveness shall be granted to you, for you are, too, no more than a victim.

Half of his expression remains hidden. Suddenly he turns and paces away, but long before that his gesture betrayed, therefore you follow and - touch him by the shoulder.

_You are after him, don’t you._

He slammed you against the wall, and his forearm caged your neck. Your prison is reducing its size and gradually no rooms are left for breathing. You look at him in the eye. That teeny tiny reflection of flame in the depth of wells is like, like the last thing that was sealed in the box of Pandora.

“How I wish our reunion is under other circumstances than this, Will,” he spoke. You lift a smirk. He tilts his head and half-curtained his eyes as if lost in deep thought in your presence. “But since we are both here, I suppose that matters a little by now.”

“So am I,” you exhaled those words, “there is a huge diversion between present moment and imagination.”

“I’m afraid that we are unable to fix it,” he paused, and after a while he adds, “Do you think of me, Will, in your memory palace?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t have to. You are a part of my memory palace, vague, and blur, but exist. When I focus, meats and bones start to take shape, you stand in front of me; we re-enact that night.”

“Like what we are at this very moment?” he loosens the strength, and to your stomach where he intends to caress you grab him by the wrist. And you let it go. His fingers are sharp and precise, they whisk on their master’s mark. You allow this, too.

“We should go,” your hand bury in his hair, and drag him away from the crook of your neck and force him to look at you.

“You could use my company.”

“Yes.”


End file.
